


Legacy Upheld: The claymore and the crown.

by TayBartlett9000



Category: Braveheart (1995), Historical RPF
Genre: 13th Century, Bannockburn, Falkirk, First Person Narrative, Gen, Independence, Scotland, Stirling Bridge, Wallace's legacy, War, battles, flash back, historical fiction - Freeform, struggles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11758368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TayBartlett9000/pseuds/TayBartlett9000
Summary: The war for Scottish independence  has been a long and drawn out one indeed. Robert the Bruce   knows that all-too well. Forced to keep the peace with the nobles, the English and the angry scots at the same time, he finds that he has been given the task of  becoming king of Scotland and upholding  William Wallace's legacy, in leading his people to freedom. A long and laborious task lies ahead, and all done in the memory of a man who's cause Robert the Bruce never truly believed in, until now.





	1. Prologue.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish to note that any historical discrepancies from the film 'Braveheart' will be changed in order to better fit what actually happened during the wars of independence.

I  did not  journey to  England to  witness his execution. Does that make me a coward, knowing all-too well that I never truly believed in either the man himself or the  cause for which he fought until now? It is possible. But it is what it is. The past cannot be changed or rectified. I will just have to do the  best I can with what I have left to me.

Admittedly, what I have left to me does not  amount to much. I have a distressed and desperate nation that has lost  its leader. I have a small band of noblemen who do not trust me and who’m I no longer  trust either. I have a kingdom at my feet that is in need of someone to stand up and take charge and I have plenty of reasons to do so. Mind you, I also  have plenty of reasons to do the opposite. I  still hold my powerful position within the  nobility of Scotland. I still have my title as Robert, the eighth earl of Bruce and I still have my  land. My greatest asset is that King Edward I has indeed granted me the crown. I am now the King of Scotland.

 But there is one thorn that has  been deeply imbedded in my side – a thorn that I do not for the life of me know how to remove, a thorn that  slowly seems to be spreading poison through my body. I betrayed Scotland’s last hope for freedom to  obtain this power. I  led him directly into the path of Scotland's own  nobility - unscrupulous men who saw fit to take him from  his country and his people  by handing him over to the English,  ruining my efforts to offer him the hand of help in the process. I did it  unknowingly and had I known what would  befall him at the hands of the English, I would not have done so. But lead him to the nobles I did, under the  guidance of my father – a man who deserves not  a  shred of respect from me. However, I must confess that without his skillful if  heartless intervention, I would not have been made King, so I suppose that – inadvertently I am sure, he has  given me the chance to set things right for Scotland, for Wallace and our people. And set things right I must. And indeed there is a great deal to be put right. I  now have the task of doing precisely what Wallace told me that I should have done a long time ago. I now have  the task of leading my people to freedom.

It is a tall order to say the very least. There is a lot to be done. Those men  who raised the sword at Stirling Bridge and  the men who bled the ground red at Falkirk fought for William Wallace with belief in their hearts. I  know not yet whether they will do the same for me. But as King of the Scots, it is my duty to try.  And try I will, after working out precisely what it is I will do. But it has been a long struggle. Many people have died for freedom and many more men will die still.

To truly bring  every part of this battle for freedom together in one coherent form, I must look back on all  that has happened before. Some events I have only heard of,  and there were  some events to which  I   was a primary witness and protagonist.

My story – the story that is  intertwined with the life and story of William Wallace, begins in the year 1286, the year that marked the death of Alexander the third and the death of everything that  both the nobles and commoners knew. I had no conception then, that Alexander III’s death  would bring about a chain of events that would  bring about the end to innocence and peace within Scotland.   But it did, in a dramatic fashion.


	2. Chapter 1: Childhood of Summer wishes.

It may seem foolish, not to mention downright idealistic to say that my  childhood saw nothing in the way of \  hardship beyond that which most children are slaves to, but  to suggest otherwise would be a lie. It is so often the  way of life for a  child who grows up within the safety and protection of his noble status and home, at least until he or she grows up in any case. I never worried over anything. I never wanted for anything. I had every comfort that a young boy would have wished for.   

Not to put too fine a point on it, my own  childhood was full  of the types of past times and friendships that one would expect for a child born into nobility at that time. I was born in a grand old house that many peasants would have been envious of. I wore  clothes, ate food and received the kind of education that the peasants who worked on my father’s land could only  dream  of – not that I was in the position to appreciate this high standard of living of course. and as soon as I was able to  walk, my father taught me how to hawk and hunt. It quickly became apparent to him that I was very adept at handling a bow and arrows. ‘My fine little  archer,’ he would tell me as we rode  through the forests  around my home – dogs running at our heals, baying at the tops of their lungs.

These pronouncements  always   caused my sense of pride to rise up  from the ground, like the hawk who takes to the air on strong and  capable wings. When I was chasing deer and foxes in  the forests, I felt very much like a hawk in flight. Nobody could cut me down. Nobody  alive could outwit or outrun the young son of Bruce. I was the strongest man in Scotland while on the back of my stallion and cries of war   lepped from my lips, drawn forth from a world that I could  not have even hoped to understand.

Those were golden days of endless glory, days that seem a lifetime away now. The youth who spent his days chasing after deer in the king’s wood has now been left  behind along the rocky road of history, but I recall those days from time to time with a fond smile and a heart that   yearns to go back to those  easier times.

The other young boys from the various other noble houses in Scotland met up with me on  many occasions. They  more often than not  accompanied their own noble fathers who  so often  payed visits to my own father in the stately house where we had  made our harth and home. I played with those boys in the same forests where I went hunting. An army of great strength was forged in those woods between young boys who spoke of the  patriotic duty that had been instilled in each and every one of them from the moment they were able to comprehend the spoken word. Battles of an immense scale were fought and often won in that forest, and many men were trampled beneath the hooves of our horses. We were the gallant crusaders.  Most of those boys are dead now, most of them cut down in the prime of their lives by men from their own side. I am ashamed to admit that I myself cut down one of my childhood friends, though it pains me to recall this now.  

Though never the leader as such, I and John Balliol were never far behind our chosen leader – John Comyn,  charging with valour across the fields.

It was there, when I met William Wallace for the first time. I know that people have spoken of William as if he was a  commoner with    unusual  strength of character, but these people would be  woefully wrong. Young William was in fact the son of an aristocratic owner of a  large piece of farmland and though he was not of noble blood, he was definitely of higher birth than the peasants who worked on his family’s land. William Wallace was to become a knight of the Scottish  kingdom before the trouble with the English even started, though many people do not know this either.  

In any event, I never came to know young William Wallace very well at all. My play mates and I came across him on occasion, partaking in much the  same activities as my noble born friends,  and I  had time to appreciate, even back then, that he was no novice when it came to the art of swordsmanship. He wielded his claymore with a  swift and seasoned accuracy that drove  needles of jealousy into my young heart. I remember wishing at that time that I was as good with my own sword as William was with his. But my father never saw it fit to teach me sword play.  I must confess also that from  the day of our first meeting until my adulthood, I practiced swordsmanship every day, hoping that I would become as adept as Wallace was. I do not believe that I ever came close. Very few men did.  

Did I know upon my first meeting with William Wallace that he would  become one of the strongest freedom fighters that our fair country had ever seen? No, I did not. I never imagined that Wallace would ever become the man that he eventually became. But then again, I never imagind that I would become the man that I have become either.

So, to cut a long and glorious story short, that was my childhood. I did not expect that my life would change as dramatically  as it had, but these glorious days of sunshine and spirited adventures through the  glens and  forests were lived  during  the period of Alexander the Third’s reign over Scotland. All of these wonderful days would come to an end in March of 1286, when a freak accident  would claim the life of our beloved king, throwing me into a world of political turmoil and confusion.


	3. Chapter two: Scotland's darkest hour.

I  never imagined that I would ever become mixed up in a war of politics, not to mention a war that would leave millions dead and the balance of  power  in ruins.

As I have already stated, prior to the death of King Alexander the third in 1286, I  was a young Scottish nobleman  with few   aspirations for the future beyond of course the  given, which was that I would come to one day inherit my father’s land and titles. The noble family of Bruce owned a large expanse of land in both Scotland and England, but our stronghold lay in the lands of Annandale, a slice of land that my noble family had owned for centuries. And I  would come to own both this  large piece of land and the commoners that worked on it. They would serve me and the noble family of Bruce, and if they did not, they would find themselves thrown from the land and out in the cold to look for work elsewhere. My father had  taught me to be ruthless in order to hold onto everything that I held dear and I knew nothing different. Little did I know that in years to come, I would end up becoming the king – a man who had to  exercise ruthlessness beyond even my own expectations.

What would my father have said if he had lived to see my  coronation as King of the Scottish in 1306? “You will grow up to be a  very powerful man, my son,” my father used to tell me every night before sleep closed in upon me. There he would stand by  my peacefully inert body, looking down at me as he did so, and I have to admit to myself that those words had brought considerable reassurance at that time. My future was sealed, apparently. But I doubt that even  my father would have believed that I would rise to be King. I wonder what he would have thought of my efforts as a  ruler if he had been alive to witness it. I am not sure  whether he would have been happy with my twenty three or so years as King of the Scots.

Again, as I have said, these thoughts of safety and security were created in the mind of a child  living in a country that had been, at least for a time,  governed under somewhat peaceful rule. I  really must stop repeating myself, but it  does seem that my memories of these explosive events  have all melted into one long struggle, and it is an effort to pick  each memory apart and remove it from the multitude  that is the rest of my  memories.

But anyway, back to the laborious tale of these events. Nobody among our people, even the peasantry,  could or would have ever said that our great king, Alexander the third, was a poor or  incompetent ruler. Far from it in fact. Alexander the third was a strong ruler who truly believed in doing what was best for his people. His strong willed leadership meant that the people of Scotland lived in relative peace. Though the oppressive and forboding hand of King Edward  I of England still threatened to close tight  over the highland kingdom,  his wroth was kept very much at bay while Alexander ruled over us. Back in those days, Scotland was  recognised as a country of its own, with a free and independent population who’s spirit could never have been dampened or broken.

Aside from our prosperity  in terms of spirit and  nation-hood, Scotland  also had a prospering industrial economy. Under the leadership of King Alexander the third, grand structures of immense size and power were built, ensuring that cities such as Edinburgh grew from the agricultural landscape. The clans of the country enjoyed a high standard of living under king  Alexander’s watchful gaze and I do not think that anybody saw an end to this glorious reign. I myself never saw the end coming. As a nobleman born and  bred,  I wasn’t subject to the land  working peasantry of Scotland. But  even I noticed the decline in both our power and status within Europe upon the death of King Alexander the third.

As a young boy, I was greatly interested in history. I   had, nor have not yet met a noble born person who has not taken up  at least a   partial interest in historical matters. We have to, after all. We must be interested in our country’s history if we are to govern our land and people effectively.  In any event, I knew many of the details surrounding our great King’s family tree.

Alexander the third had married Margaret of England. This posed no problems to begin with, for this young woman was the daughter of Henry the third himself and I believe that the marriage between the two helped to secure favourable ties with the neighbouring country of England.  This couple went on to have three children – two of which were certainly of the position to take over from the king should anything tragic happen to him. But sadly, these events were not  to take place, for all three of the king’s children, two boys and one daughter, died before their father himself, meaning that the king had no airs. This was undoubtedly a precarious position for any monarch to be in,  but my  child’s eye view of the world saw no danger in that.

And so our country continued to prosper, until Margaret herself died and the  king married another. This woman  came from France and he  undoubtedly expected her to produce a fine  air to his noble throne. However, it seems  that luck did not at all favour the king of Scotland, for he himself died before he could have a child with young Yolande De Dreux.

I was but the tender age of twelve when the King lost his life in the middle of a wild and stormy night in March in 1286, , and after making a rather   idiotic mistake that would  have  catastrophic consequences for his country and his people.

As I understood it, the king had been entertaining several lucky nobles  at a castle in Scotland’s capital that night and his grace decided that once the night’s  feasting and merriment came to an end, he would  personally ride back to his home near Kinghorn, against the best wishes of the men whom  acted as his advisors. I am sure  that they fought long and hard to make sure that  his grace did not make such a foolish decision but I am also equally certain that he saw no reason to act upon his advisors’ words.

So, the stormy night on the nineteenth of March 1286 was to be our king’s    ultimate downfall. He did attempt to make the journey back to his castle in the middle of the  storm and it is a sad  but  curious thing to note that nobody among our people or any other knows how he met his death on that fateful night. The only thing that is known of his death  therefore is that he made his way  across the treacherous coastal path along with  his men, but that he became separated from their party. The sad truth that comes out of all of this, is that his body and the body of his steed  were both found the next morning at the bottom of the  cliffs. Such a tragic and pointless  way to die, if I may say so myself.

This, naturally, left Scotland in a  deep fix. As I have already said, the king  had left no direct airs to his throne. His sons had died before they  were old enough to father children of their own and his only daughter – a woman who had married into a Norwegion family, had only one child and she was certainly not the most appropriate ruler for  our fare country. Aside from  being miles away in the  country of Norway, the young girl was but the age of  four and  it would be a considerable amount of time before she became old enough and competent enough  to rule by herself.  But what choice did we have? Scotland was in a terrible situation and we desperately needed a solution, so our noble elders decided that in order to try and halt the  ever growing chaos  throughout the country, we would accept Margaret  the Maid of Norway as Scotland’s queen.

Indeed things seemed to have settled down once again. The nobility and clans alike breathed sighs of obvious relief. Everybody in the country  had been worried about our fate and now that we were to have a new queen, we  felt assured in the  knowledge that our country  was safe.

But oh, how wrong a single band of nobles could be. The situation for Scotland grew steadily worse in fact, for four years after the decision to put the young Margaret Maid of Norway on the throne, she set off for Scotland by boat. During this long voyage from Norway, our future queen took ill and died. I had by now reached the age of sixteen and I knew by now how serious our collective life and safety had become. I think that everybody in Scotland knew that also. Everywhere I went I saw looks of pensive tension upon every face.  Nobody was really certain what was going to happen any  longer. I believe that if the clans people had known that the situation would become much worse in the decades to come, they would have panicked a great deal more. So would I, come to that.

In any event, despite the confusion surrounding the king’s liniage, or lack there of as the case was, we did have one security blanket to which we could fall back on. That security blanket came in the form of the king of England, Edward I. He offered the  hands of friendship and support at first and we were greatful for the offers that he had extended to the country. We were willing to take any help that could be offered to us, but little did we know that he would turn out to be the worst  factor in an ever growing snowball of discontent for Scotland. 

 


	4. Chapter three: Enter Edward I.

I do not believe, even to this day, that the people of Scotland truly knew what type of tyrant they would be dealing with when they agreed to set up an alliance of sorts with King Edward I of England. And why would they? Edward I was a powerful and decisive ruler who’s commanding authority was nothing short of absolute. I have no doubt that the Scottish people were more than a little disgruntled by the fact that Edward I of England had taken it upon himself to extend his authority until he held our nation firmly in his hands. But I also believe that the price of safety and security was a risk that the Scots were more than willing to take.   
Unfortunately, everybody became all-too aware of the mistake that had been made.   
Edward I of England’s iron fist came down hard upon Scotland. The common people were squeezed for every penny they had, and the nobility were not much better off. Our people had to swear undying allegiance to him. If Edward I told the army of Scotland to fight, nobody alive on Scottish soil had any power to refuse him. English nobles were granted estates in Scotland in an effort to further cement the king’s ruling status over the Scots. Needless to say however, people were decidedly unhappy.   
There were rumours flying from mouth to mouth that the king of England perceived Scots to be somewhat less than human – rumours that I honestly did believe. Some even said that Edward wished to breed the Scots out of Scotland, though I do not know the truth of this.   
My father, as usual, was determined to make the best out of this situation. He was a tactition in many ways, and he was determined to remain on good terms with the ones who wielded the most power. He informed me that in order to keep the peace between our nations, I was to support the English rule from my lands in the north. I think that my father was truly certain of our continued prosperity and power within our nation’s higherarchy.  
I certainly was not. My father was playing a dangerous game, and I knew this very well. It was widely known that King Edward was not above killing as many people as necessary to get what he wanted. All of Scotland’s nobles were aware of this. I believe, but most of them had no wish to ruffle any feathers.   
In any event, enspite of this, Edward I took great pains to reassure the nation that he would do his upmost to help the Scottish people. The task fell to him to select a new king of Scotland, and it was at this moment that I began to fully realise how far my father would go in order to secure the Bruces’ rule over Scotland.   
My father himself suffered from leprosy and so I think that he wished with great desire for his son to become Scotland’s next king. “You have been preparing for your potentiality for kingship since you were naut but a child, my son,” my father had told me on every alternate evening spent at his house near Edinburgh. Upon the death of our beloved king Alexander, my dear father had launched directly into his campaign to put a Bruce on the throne. “We have the best and strongest links with our own royal family,” he had told me, standing by the window of his grand old castle, “Our noble king had ties with the house of Bruce, and I believe that to have a member of clan Bruce on the throne would be the best thing for Scotland. Do you not think so, my son?”   
I had nodded. “Yes, father,” I had replied mechanically, as was my expected response.   
And so this campaign had continued. The Balliol family boasted of their own royal ties to our noble king and my father contested these opinions hotly. Politics throughout the kingdom of Scotland became more and more violent in nature, with nobles clasing sword upon sword. I would even go so far as to say that our own political actions became worse than those demonstrated by Edward I and his men, and that is saying an awful lot. .   
Despite the growing unrest between our noble families, my father refused to back down. “The Bruce famly are by far the richest and most capable noble family in Scotland,” he would often tell me, fixing me with a stern stare as he spoke, “and I will not die a happy man unless my gifted son is made King. In order for you to win your crown, you must have an alliance with England. Remember that, son. Remember that.”   
I had indeed remembered that. The nobles of our great country were all of a similar opinion. We were all fervent believers in the patriotic sense of nationalism that lead us to greatly desire for Scotland to be a nation in and of itself, and yet, we all knew only to well that in order to one day gain the independence we desired, we could not afford to burn our bridges with England.  
Besides, we were all far too in love with the power that came with Scottish nobility. Every one of us were owners of grand old estates, worked on and cultivated by commoners, and I do believe that we were all too afraid to give these privelidges up. Keeping up a good relationship with the people of England had always been of great benefit to us nobles in order for us to keep the peace.  
But I was certainly aware of the fact that as time went on, the commonrs of Scotland did not at all feel the same way. The common clansmen and clanswomen of the country had very few hopes and dreams beyond their daily work and family lives. Their only concern was that they were allowed to stay on our land, living in peace with their families. The only wishes they had for themselves were that the weather brought them a good harvist, that their efforts would bring them strong children, and that their children would keep well and happy for as long as possible. Their concern was not for politics and monarchical afairs, either with the English or just kings of their own.   
Politics for the nobles however, was of the upmost importance. The campaign raged for what seemed like an eternity. Indeed, I thought that the fude between the noble houses was unlikely ever to come to an end. But come to an end it did, in a surprisingly swift fashion.   
At long last, after a struggle for domination and a long faught campaign on the part of the nobles to succeed to the throne, King Edward I of England chose our ruler for us.   
This new ruler came in the form of John Balliol, and let me tell you, this man’s rule over our great nation was nothing more than a joke. I was not ever sure of my own place within the higherarchy of our country, but I never doubted that Balliol was a pitifully poor choice as king, but then again, I think it is obvious as to why this man was chosen. Edward I knew his political game. I cannot deny that. He knew that for all intents and purposes, Balliol was the perfect king for him. He was the puppit, easily controlled and manipulated.   
And so begins another, possibly even darker chapter in the history of our wars for independence. It would be a long time before we would see the light of hope, and therefore we had to contend with living in the dark for the moment.


End file.
